Page 73 of The Woman in the Warehouse

But my stomach was twisting into knots.

Something felt… wrong.

I called once.

Twice.

Three times.

All went right to voicemail.

“Fuck,” I growled, trying again.

“What’s going on?” Gio asked, posture stiffening.

“Saylor, when you get this, call me,” I told her voicemail before ending the call.

“She’s not answering?” Gio asked.

“No,” I said. “Fuck.”

“Okay,” Gio said, glancing at the clock on the dash. “We’ve got ten until the next ferry. Let’s swing back, get Ciro and Elio, then all go across together. From what Elio said, you don’t want to be facing these fucks alone.”

“I’ll wait here,” I said, feeling like a vice was closing around my throat as I climbed out of the car.

I shouldn’t have sent her back alone.

I should have been there with her.

Now I was half an hour away. And fucking useless.

Lifting my phone again, I dialed Miko, remembering his earlier offer to help.

“Anthony. Everything alright?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“Okay. Lay it out.”

“I’m on Staten Island. Long story. But Saylor had to go back across without me.”

“Who is Saylor?” he asked.

Fuck.

“She’s working with me on this case with the Czechs. We came here to do research. But she had to go back early without me. And now she’s not answering. I’m coming back with the Morellis, but I am half an hour out. I need—“

“Give me an address.”

“You can’t go alone,” I told him. “We walked into a horror movie that these fucks created on Staten Island today. You need backup.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about that. I’ll sort it out. Text me an address.”

With that, he hung up.

With shaking fingers, I sent him the address to the safe house, explaining that the Czechs lived across the street, that they had to be careful.

He texted back to tell me that he had it covered.

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